


First and Last Chances

by marshv



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, F/M, First Time, Love Confessions, Romance, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshv/pseuds/marshv
Summary: Commission- When you aren't convinced you deserve love at all, reciprocating it becomes something of a challenge.





	First and Last Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I don't write romance at all. I write raunchy gay smut so writing something heterosexual and romantic was a huge challenge but MAN I'm glad I did it because I'm actually fairly happy with how this came out.
> 
> This is a commission piece for [castorochiaro](http://castorochiaro.tumblr.com/) on tumblr that was supposed to be 1000 words but obviously got out of hand. Thank you so much for being my first commission!

She reminded him of everything he had lost hope in. Everything he had given up on. Kindness, happiness, beauty. It was difficult to accept that there were still people like her, living and being able to thrive. She was so unlike everything he was used to.

When the omnium had gone done, when his home had been irradiated and turned to ash, Roadhog hadn’t been surprised. Disappointed maybe, but not surprised. He didn’t expect happy endings. Life wasn’t happy. There had been hardships as long as he could remember. Except now, he was older, and far less optimistic about the days ahead of him. His eyes had dulled, and he accepted the world for what it was: Garbage. Filled to tipping with lowlives and scum only slightly worse than himself. The earth had been salted, and there was nothing that could be done to remedy it.

Even after joining Overwatch, his opinion hadn’t changed. The idea that the world was worth saving, or that it could be saved, was a daydream he had forgotten about a long time ago. He found it humorous that a group of working professionals could be so blind to the futility of their own cause. Adults clinging to faith like children. The notion that he could ever develop anything other than disdain for these people was ridiculous.

Which is why she had been such a shock to him.

Dr. Angela Ziegler was the last teammate he and Jamison met when they arrived. Winston—a gorilla, an actual gorilla—was delighted to introduce them to their doctor. And she had been even more delighted to meet them.

The first thing she did was apologize that it had taken her so long to say hello. She was a very busy woman, she explained, taking pride in how much she was valued, but nearly begging them to forgive her lateness. She didn’t even notice him at first, looming in the shadows while she listened to Junkrat yammer on.

When Rat pointed him out, she stared, awestruck, her eyes traveling up his hulking form. The height difference had her head tilting at an absurd angle when she finally reached his face.

But her look of surprise changed almost instantly, becoming a bright and sunny smile.

“Hello there!” she said with a noticeable accent, giving an enthusiastic wave.

She was as cheerful as the girl with the goggles. But more soft spoken.

In return, he offered a gruff ‘hi’ and a wave of his own. And her smile widened. As if she was truly happy to meet him.

He didn’t understand why.

Six months later, he sat in her office. The cool air of the med bay was freezing to him. She checked him over, poking him with a needle, while he purposely made sure to avoid eye contact. The feel of his heart clenching was neither productive nor helpful. So he willed himself to avoid looking at her.

They had bonded over time. More than she did with any of the others. Roadhog knew this because she told him. And she wasn’t a liar. Not a malicious one anyway. She didn't have that in her. There was nothing for her to gain from getting his hopes up.

“How has your arm been? Have you regained full movement?” she held her hand on the bicep of his injured extremity.

He responded by flexing the arm, showing the range of motion and tightening his muscles. He didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up.

“ _Wunderbar_!” she cheered, honest excitement at the improvement.

Dainty hands patted down his elbow and checked the IV.

“You know,” she started to say, then paused, removing the needle. “When I first met you I was worried you didn't like me.”

He felt a wave of apprehension, and tensed, confused by the sudden change in conversation.

“You used to charge into danger without waiting for me,” she said. “And then complain when I’d try to treat you. I thought you were just being stubborn.”

There was still no hint where she was going with this. He always forced his way to the front lines—still did—throwing himself in front of shrapnel and bullets and whatever else they tried to lob her with, but he didn't think she'd noticed. She kept them alive, _of course_ he protected her.

Clearing her throat, she swallowed.

“But then I realized, I wasn't getting hurt nearly as often. You've been keeping me safe, haven't you?”

...So evidently she _had_ noticed.

Roadhog felt her icy blues boring into him. He didn't see a purpose in lying to her, so he nodded.

She smiled, looking down, eyes softening as she tucked her bangs behind her ear. Her tiny hands came to rest on one of his. Both of them just barely matching the size his palm.

“ _Danke_.” she breathed. Quiet and shy.

The smile was still there. But the mood in the room had shifted. The chilly sterile air was now like an oven. He felt her thumbs roaming over his giant hand, too small, too delicate. Like a feather. She was so tiny. He could snap her like a twig. Why wasn't she afraid of him?

“It's been lovely getting to know you. I truly enjoy our time together.”

She kept talking, it was forced and awkward, and he still said nothing. His breathing quickened, hissing through the filters on his mask. He was too old for this shit. Way too old. She was breaking down the walls he had built around himself, and she did it by simply existing in the same building as him.

“You're a strong and fearless man, Mako.”

No, he immediately thought. No. She was wrong. He wasn't strong and he wasn't fearless either. Couldn't be. Because right now, he was absolutely terrified.

“No.”

It was all he said, and it was uttered like a stern warning. She was getting into something she knew nothing about and he would be damned if he was going to let her ruin her life. She deserved better than this.

“No?” she squinted, confused. Fingers stilled over his palm.

“No,” he couldn't stop now, and gulped down a bubble of air caught in his throat. “Not fearless. Not around you.”

Pathetic. An embarrassment. The confession felt heavy, like a weight had been planted in his gut. Voicing it out loud didn't get anything off his chest, not with how much more he still needed to say. Instead, it just made her stare at him, wide-eyed and waiting to hear more. And there wasn't a nerve in his body that could say no to her.

He turned his hand up, thick fingers gently holding her own. When she didn't flinch, he looked at her, and was urged on by the redness in her cheeks.

“You deserve everything.”

It hurt to say because he didn't deserve her. And he knew he didn't. Even as much as he wanted her. Though the weight in his gut felt lighter, it wasn't gone completely. He caught a glint in her eye. It was impish, playful, and teased the corners of her mouth into a smile.

“What if I just want you?”

The words were incredibly cliche, uttered a million times by a million lovestruck idiots. But when she said it, it made his breath catch. He knew it was coming, that she was going to admit her feelings to him at some point. He knew she had them. But that didn't mean he was ready for it.

“You know how I feel, don't you?”

It felt similar to a dream. A painful dream. One that was like heaven but would fade away the second he woke up.

One of her hands left his palm to stroke the top of his neck. It was where his mask ended. A vulnerable spot. But she was timid, easing into touching him, not pushing further.

“Please? Just give me one chance.”

Now she was pleading with him. It was nonsense. She saved people. He killed them. She was peerlessly kind where he was cruel and callous without any stroke of benevolence. Nothing could come of this except more anger and heartbreak.

He needed to tell her no. To tell her it _wasn't_ a smart move. It wasn't a smart move. She should see that. But for some reason, she didn't. For some reason, she watched him with hopeful eyes. Eyes that had seen the same things he had. Eyes that had witnessed innumerable tragedies, but still held all the hope in the world.

For whatever reason, she wanted him too. And for the rest of his life, he would give her whatever she wanted. He had to.

The hand touching his neck stilled, and he finally replied. The weight lifted.

“Ok.”

She looked shocked, similar to how she looked when she first saw him—amazed by his sheer size and unable to form words. Just like that first day, her expression lit up, smile bright enough to light the entire room.

Before he could react, she had draped both hands over his shoulders and pulled herself in close. She just barely reached high enough. And he knew she only got that far because he was sitting down.

“I know we can make each other happy.”

She laughed. Overjoyed. It was musical, like a chorus of bells. And he gave a pleased, but nervous hum.

Even unable to see his face, she beamed. She knew him well enough that she didn't need to see it. The glassy stare of his mask wasn't a deterrent, never had been, and she had no trouble reading his different sounds and body language. This woman, by some miracle, was looking at him like he was the love of her life. With the same longing that he gave her.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked. Her fingers prodded more insistent at the line of his mask.

For a moment he hesitated—in too deep, gonna get hurt—but he shoved it aside. Keep regrets for later. Just let this happen. No sense in getting her hopes up just to change his mind a second later.

He answered by bringing her closer, one hand covering her back, while the other flipped the bottom of his mask over to expose his mouth. More than she had ever seen of him. She was shaking with excitement, and was on him instantly, taking no time in smashing her lips into his.

For a moment he forgot how to breathe. His chest pounded from the force of his heart, beating like a hammer against his ribs. He clutched at her, feeling the fabric of her clothes, her warmth, the sweet smell of her perfume. She was so classy. Even gasping into his mouth, sliding her lips along his own, she looked poised and professional. The way she moved ignited him, set his skin on fire, just like he knew it would.

After a few minutes, the fire suddenly fizzled, she had pulled back, mouth open, eyes dazed. He stroked her cheek, hand encasing her face, and she reacted by leaning into his palm, her eyes falling shut.

She looked stunning, face and lips flushed from their desperate kissing. And the fire started once again.

“I've wanted to do that for so long,” she laughed, airy and quiet. “You don't understand how much I need you.”

His mouth was still exposed. He took a deep breath, speechless at her choice of words, and guided her in close with the hand on her cheek, delivering a kiss to her other one.

“You're so beautiful.”

It was an obvious thing to mention, and something she no doubt already knew, but it was all he could muster up. Saying it so she could hear it was liberating. Relieving. Being able to confess a thought that'd been on his mind for months felt more freeing than he’d felt in years. A critical breath of air that he badly needed.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She turned her face and kissed his palm, sighing, trying to reign in her excitement at the sight of his lips moving as he spoke. “I know how handsome you must be under your mask. You have wonderful lips.”

She said the last bit with a smile, metaphorically prodding him, and it was clear what she wanted. But there was still so much for him to hide. It was less about insecurities, and more about disappointing her. He was a visage of a man who no longer existed. In his place, only scars—all of them memories he wanted to forget. He was nothing but a killer, and his face was a testament to that. Frightening. Intimidating. Maybe less so than his mask. But criminals weren't beautiful. No matter what outside appearances they might have, there was ugliness that hid between the lines. He just happened to wear that ugliness on the surface. Fortunate for anyone that might mistake him for a good person.

Let her think he's beautiful. Let her pretend.

“Please, Mako.”

Touches as soft as clouds and twice as fleeting were felt around his mouth, just for a moment. Then she dropped her hands back to his shoulders and squeezed.

“I trust you, I want you to trust me.”

Her voice broke, and it broke him too. She deserved this fantasy. Deserved to be happy. Seeing him wouldn't do that. It would destroy it. The impending heart break that hung above them didn't need to crush them so soon. There were a million things he could say to hurt her. He had a dictionary of insults burned into his mind that could tear her apart at the seams and destroy any faith she had. But none of them would hurt her like this. Breaking this image of him that she'd built up. It would devastate her. He couldn't allow that.

He wanted her to see how rotten he was. But not like this.

When the pause had dragged on, her face fell, falling deeper and deeper until it became a painful looking frown.

“I know you're not perfect. I know. I'm not either. But you have to understand something…”

Her eyes closed. The tips of her lashes stuck together. As she paused, her hands abandoned his shoulders to clutch at his wrist. Quietly, she choked out:

“I love you. So much.”

She looked so hurt saying it, and it hurt to hear. Like she was waiting for rejection. As if he even could. And maybe he was just dense. Or maybe he was being too optimistic, thinking this could ever happen. But more likely, he was just in love with her too. Had been forever. And it made what she said all the more like a kick to the chest. Because this was supposed to be a crush on her part, nothing else.

Maybe they just had different definitions of love, he reassured himself. Perhaps ‘love’ just meant she cared for him deeply. But as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew if anyone in the world still had a true, romantic, powerfully factual sense of what love was, she did.

She loved him. And he didn't want her to.

“Angela.”

The mask came off more easily than he thought. His heart was heavy as he undid the strap. She watched him, her face half red from where his hand had been resting. When the mask left his head, went to lie on the table next to him, he felt exposed. And the freezing air that covered his face contrasted sharply to the heat of his body.

He didn't look at her. Didn't even face her. But once again he felt her fingers— he'd never forget them after all this—as they combed through the stubble on his jaw. Her other hand framed the side of his face. She turned him to her, looking at his closed eyelids, then she kissed them, willing them to open while she touched the scars on his nose.

“You look just how I imaged.”

When his eyes shot open at the statement, she gasped. It was thrilling to her. His eyes. Her heart pounded. Getting to see his face, getting to touch his face, getting to kiss his face, was just as fulfilling as she pictured it to be.

With an open mouthed smile, a huge grin, she ran her hands over his cheeks. She tangled into his hair and marveled at him, tripping over words and making gentle noises of admiration and disbelief.

“You're so handsome,” she sighed. “Thank you.”

He didn't say anything. Couldn't. He hadn't thought this far ahead. Either she was delusional or just so head over heels for him that she couldn't see how hideous he was. And she was thanking him.

It wasn't something that bothered him, his face, looks didn't matter when everyone turned to dust at the end. However, he wasn't particularly fond of the way she was so enamored by it. This was too new a feeling. Unfamiliar. Wonderful, but too good for him to trust.

When she came in to kiss him again though, he didn't stop her. His eyes, now visible, didn't close. He watched her eyelids fluttering as she pressed against his mouth. Hands stroked his neck and face, fingertips scaling the expanse of skin she never thought she’d see. Their lips fit together in a way he couldn’t deny. Perfect. Molded to one another. She was soft, her lips working his mouth open with discernible pressure and ease. And when she opened her eyes again, she caught him staring.

His body knew what he wanted, even while his mind shoved his emotions away like a petulant child. It demanded him, pleaded with him. Her desires were in tune with his own and there was no sense in denying himself. Even just looking at her was intoxicating.

Everything about her— from the way she walked, the way she smiled, even the crinkle of her brows and her irritated frown when she was reprimanding him to take care of himself— all of it had drawn him in. Had since he met her. She was extraordinary. She was cool and calm, she was safety during danger, and a place away from home you could shelter in. He needed this.

Her arms encircled his neck, body like a furnace, and he was ashamed of how grateful he was that she wasn’t in her valkyrie suit.

“Tell me what you want,” she was direct as she asked him. Her pupils had blown wide. Firm, distracting movements of her hands wiped his mind clean.

“I want you,” he told her. And he smiled, allowing himself to chuckle at his own mumbling of the corny phrase.

She didn't mind at all, and it happened quickly then, like a flash in front of his eyes that was there and gone before he could blink. She had waited long enough. Any self control she had had dissolved ages ago. He didn’t even have a chance to see her face first.

He ended up on his back, going down without resistance. She had knocked him onto the examination bed, straddling his hips to the extent she could. Like this she seemed even smaller. This tiny woman had him at her absolute mercy, and of course he had to smile at that line of thinking too.

Her spine arched into an array of sultry, bending movements. She twisted, arms behind her back as she began shrugging off her lab coat. Underneath she had on a simple blue sweater. It matched her eyes and hugged her waist and chest, curves more pronounced than they usually were. He'd seen her in other outfits from a swimsuit in the summer to a nightgown in the mess hall at midnight. She looked good in everything. But a plain, inconspicuous sweater forming to the shape of her body was driving him mad.

The way his mouth opened in awe as he watched her, it was the best kind of encouragement. With a shy, teasing smile, her hands started at her chest, cupping her breasts through the fabric and kneading them. His face deepened to a darker shade of red. She was confident now, trailing down her body, touching firm and sure along her hips. She grabbed the bottom of her sweater, pausing, watching him.

Slowly, agonizing, she peeled off her top. A canvas of clear, creamy skin was revealed to him one inch at a time. He'd seen all this, the swimsuit, but it was so different now. She wasn't laughing with Genji and Fareeha by the pool with a glass of iced tea in her hand. And he wasn't off to the side, watching her off and on while Jamison tried to command his attention. Now they were alone together, no distractions, the thin cotton of her bra just barely hiding the swell of her breasts. She was blushing red all over, holding her stare. And without the same fluid movements from before, an afterthought perhaps, she undid her ponytail, shaking out the strands with a quick jerk of her head.

Now this, this was a sight he hadn't seen. She always had her hair tied up. If it wasn't in a ponytail, then it was in a bun. Now the length of it hit all the way to her upper back. It was layered. Sections of blonde were interspersed with bits of grey, silver showing the extent of the hard work she dedicated her life to. It all framed her face flawlessly, tied her together

It occurred to him she was half naked, whereas he was still clothed. The illusion that she was some sort of gift to him, unwrapping in front of him while he just sat back and watched, made him recoil. He went to unfasten the buckle on his belt, the motions no where near the grace of her own, and she clasped her hands onto his.

“Let me do it,” she whispered.

When he grumbled a half hearted refusal, grimacing, she urged him up until he sat against the wall. She was sitting on his thighs now, her face turned up to look at him. But rather than going right for his pants, she simply sat there, her hands on his chest, roaming over his body as if it were a rare, fragile thing. Every swipe of her hand was electric, shocking his system like a bucket of ice.

“You’re so big,” she breathed out. He wasn’t even sure she knew she said it. Her gaze looked so gone, so glazed and hazy. Down his chest her fingertips ghosted, marking his skin with an invisible pattern. They landed on his belt, fumbling with the latch. Then she stopped, realized her bra was still on, and went to remove it.

When he watched it suddenly get flung across the room, no long-lasting strip tease like she’d done with her sweater, he had no choice but to stare at her newly exposed chest. It lit him on fire. Something in him snapped, the heavy beat of his chest was loud enough to shake the room. That’s how it seemed. Because everything had been so calculated, so slow up until then, and now he just wanted his hands on her. His fingers ached from the feeling, the need to touch her. Then she started moving.

The peaks of her breasts poked into his stomach from where she sat. He breath fell short, goosebumps rising on his skin. Supple, warm mounds cushioned her body as she slid against him. Torso rolling, back arching, she melded their skin together, a slick layer of sweat forming in the area between them. Not thinking, moving on instinct, he pressed her into him, his hands enclosing around her and absorbing the heat. She glowed with it. Emitted it like radiation. And he basked in her, taking her into his arms, hands closing over every curve of her body and committing them to memory.

Her lips met his neck. Mouthing over the smooth line of his jaw, she was meddling between their bodies, fiddling with the buckle on his pants. She gasped into his skin as she worked. Dipped into his waistband.

The hands holding her hips worked their way around, kneading her clothed rear. He felt her smile as her lips moved against his neck. Flinching, she ripped the belt from his waist with one quick tug. It took every ounce of his confidence, but he gingerly started slipping down the elastic of her hospital scrubs.

She moaned into his neck. Breath fluttering like she was about to pass out. Encouraged, he slid into her underwear, feeling places on her he never imagined he’d feel. Both her scrubs and underwear came off at once, sliding over her round backside, down her silky thighs, as his throat tightened with anticipation.

There was a very distinguishable blush coloring her face, but it was anything but nervous. When everything had come off, she wasted no time in bending back, stretching her arms over her head. Turning from side to side, she showed off her newly revealed assets while he simply gawked and stared.

“What do you think?”

She already knew the answer. They both did. And she giggled from the rush of it, finally being seen, bared and naked for the other to take in and enjoy.

All he could do was shake his head, slowly, disbelieving, mouth hanging open. It was so hard to accept any of this was real, and that he of all people was the one to see her like this. Because she was ready for him now, everything on display, every portion of her creamy skin out in the open and just begging for him to reach out and touch. Her hip bones made a line to her center, soft dips that were just visible under the bounty of her feminine curves.

She pressed on, not pausing, sinking her fingers into his hips, flashing him her bedroom eyes and grinning like she knew a secret.

Under his pants, her hands made their way closer and closer to his length. He never bothered with underwear himself, and she seemed to appreciate it greatly from the way she bit her lip. The fly was open now, and all that separated them was the canvas fabric of his trousers.

He rolled his shoulder, feeling stiff from the tension, and swallowed, attempting to will away the pressure in his chest.

When she finally, finally touched him, so light, hardly noticeable, her eyes darkened, gripped by lust, and all the tantalizing movements she had incorporated were long gone, vanished with any patience. Sitting up on her knees, she locked her eyes onto his, holding his gaze with no regard to the way his heart was leaping. His pants were off in an instant, but to him, it was slow motion.

After that, neither of them took time to pause. It was all a blur from there. They both held onto each other, ready to burst from their combined desires. She was all over him, hands grasping his skin. Not stopping, no time for it, she ran her hands from the tops of his thighs over the expanse of his stomach, kissing him everywhere.

She ventured south, descending every hill of his body. Her eyes were closed when she got her hands on him. She sighed, so content and pleased, biting her lip again as she held him. The touch. This forbidden, unadvised union had progressed and entered reality. All by the grace of her fingertips.

One of his arms, shaking, went to grasp her rear again. The other pet gently along her back. She stroked him with slow, languid curls of her palm, her fingers wrapping around his girth and squeezing. The sweat coming off him gathered where she was seated, making her movements easier. The press of her thumb to the head of his cock sent a spiral of heat to his abdomen, and he groaned, hardly noticing the volume of it, and not caring at that point.

The fingers on her rear wiggled, experimenting, inching their way down the crevices of her plump cheeks as he dipped into the wet heat of her entrance.

She noticed, and collapsed against him, back arching, grinding back into him with abandon. Angelic, high pitched whines greeted him, and he pressed further along her slick opening. Her hands, now wracked with tremors, continued to stroke his growing cock. When his index finger was bold enough, it journeyed the last millimeter to the center of her, to the tiny nub of nerves that he rubbed with a firm, sure touch.

The breath in her fluttered, and she cried out, face pressed into his chest as her body rolled into his. Her grip on him tightened. Both her hands pumping at a faster pace, her fingers damp with pre cum. It was really happening. It was all happening. She seemed to realize this the same time he did, because before he knew it, she was forcing herself away, trembling to grasp his shoulder while she lifted herself. Onto her knees she posed over him, making eye contact again, being sure that he saw her face when she sunk down.

There wasn't anything to say anymore. Words didn't exist. Thoughts didn't exist. In that moment there was only the raw, carnal lust that pumped through their limbs. Driving them. Careful, focused, their arms entwined, she lowered herself, the thick head of his cock spreading her open. He slid inside her, bit by bit, fully surrounded by her, and watched her face contort into one of bliss as she took him in.

Her head was thrown back, elegant neck exposed for him, and he kissed her pulse without a second of hesitation. Their chests were flush together, heat soaring, breath loud and rasping through parted lips. Her thighs quaked when she was fully seated around him. The wonderful, pliable flesh of her hips and cheeks pressed down against his thighs, fixing them together. He was amazed, scared, but so lost in the tight heat of her he could only moan, his own eyes closed while she shook on top of him, staring, face quirking with a smile.

“ _Mako_ ,” was all she said. And she took a deep breath before shifting her hips, whining high with need as the mass of him pushed inside her, rubbing every wall, every nerve, filling every space and leaving nothing untouched. He was huge, she knew that. He knew that. But she took him like she was made for it, enjoying everything he had to offer.

His palm on her back continued to stroke, calming, keeping her close by. His sheer size made any sort of thrusting difficult, but the way she constricted around him, muscles throbbing over every inch, clamping down, was more than enough to satisfy him.

They rocked together, the sweet sounds she made traveling right to his ear where she panted. He pulsed inside her, clutched at her, the root of his cock rubbing just right at the swollen head of her clit. Her body pulled him in, pressure tightened around him, a messy back and forth, their fluids mixing and gathering beneath them. Wet breaths seemed to scream in the sterile quietness. Echoing like a cavern, vibrating through the air.

Reality and fantasy blended together—a concoction of impulsive decisions. Her fingers shook in their place around his neck, tiny touches like electric shocks. The sight of her face, glowing, angelic, flushed and bare while she bounced on top of him, tempted him to kiss her without pause. He touched his lips to the the side of her mouth, anxious not to disturb her sounds.

When he felt her velvet muscles throbbing, squeezing, begging him to stay put, she let out a moan that pushed him to the edge. Fluttering, body spasming, gripping at him, she gave one final roll of her hips. As she shook, full of bliss, she still managed deliver an open mouth kiss to him. It missed its mark, landing on his chin instead. She was spent, so clearly worn out, but he hadn’t pulled out from inside her. So close but still so painfully hard.

It wouldn’t have been an issue to move. He would have done it. Even with his own fervid sounds still escaping him, he would have left without bothering her. This was all more than he could have hoped for anyway. But she knew he wasn’t done, and with a dark, sly look, she rose to her knees, dragging herself off him so just his head remained inside, holding her open. Sighing long and loud, hissing from the stretch, she let herself drop down again, and he let out a deep groan that mirrored hers. In an instant he was penetrating her again, sliding in among her silken folds.

He wanted to savor it. He really did. But that final, last movement, that boldness that impassioned him, sent his release tumbling over the threshold before he could stop it. And with their bodies flush, arms holding on and cradling each other, he came. Filling her. She gasped at the feeling of it, still perched on top of him. His entire body tightened, taking the sensation in, breathing fast and heavy. It was a buildup of pressure, finally released, a pot of boiling heat frying his brain and turning his limbs limp and useless. Everything going white.

It took a while. He didn’t count, but at some point, between his eyes adjusting to the fluorescent lighting, his temperature cooling to something resembling normal, and his breathing slowing down just enough for him to catch his breath, he realized that she was still next to him. They were still together. She had moved, both of them had, but now they were side by side with her back up against his chest. One of his arm was on her hips, just resting there, and his other was under her, around her waist, palm being caressed by her hand.

The strength of the examination table was amiable. And he had to wonder just how long it took for her to convince herself that sex on medical equipment was acceptable.

She let out a happy sigh, fiddling with his fingers.

“I suppose we should get dressed, hm?”

He grunted in agreement. However, neither of them made any effort to move.

She hummed, snuggling back into him.

“But this is just so relaxing isn't it?”

Again, he agreed with her. He had nothing else to do that day, and with the way she stuck so strictly to schedules, he knew she didn't either.

It was too euphoric, the position they were in, the chill air cooling their skin. He didn't want to move. The quiet laziness was a welcome change from the tension he felt before, tension to please her, to do it right. She had been so eager to talk before, but now sat silent. However, it wasn't as nerve wracking as it was before. He wasn't tempted to run off and never look back in fear of having screwed something up.

And as he remained there, skin contact keeping them warm, he felt the glow of her joy, her optimism, her kindness. She reminded him of everything he had lost hope in.

She was so unlike everything he was used to.

And by some stroke of fate, he had made her happy.

**Author's Note:**

> As always please let me know if there are any errors. If you'd like to commission me you can find my info **[here](https://junkrathell.tumblr.com/commissions)**


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